Psychic Ills have been levitating over the streets of New York City long enough to figure out their perfect prescription. Â Over the course of four albums and a few lineup changes, The Ill ilk have journeyed through a great manyÂ psychedelicized avenues. Elated,Â sedated, and translated into auditory bliss, Psychic Ills are here to feed your head. Â If you have some Spacemen 3 records on your shelf, there’s just no rhyme or reason why Psychic Ills shouldn’t be sitting right next to them. Â Unless you order your records alphabetically.

Their fifth album (and third with the revered Sacred Bones Records), appears to be veering into cosmic country territory. Â Psychic Ills must be listening to the same Gram Parsons records that Beachwood Sparks got their hands on in the early 2000s. Â Pedal steels flow through the first two tracks like a crystal clear river through Holy Mountain. Â Whether you cover your head with a cowboy hat or a bandana laced with acid, come together for the psychedelic sounds of Psychic Ills.

Grab a copy of the record on ‘desert haze’ vinyl, limited to just 400. Â It’ll come with aÂ wax-sealedÂ alternate sleeve and some slick inserts as is custom with Sacred Bones limited product.

On occasion, David can be seen crate-digging various Austin record stores in hopes of finding an original vinyl pressing of some obscure post-punk band. In 1986, David experienced his first heartbreak when the Houston Astros blew the National League Championship Series to the New York Mets. Austin has been his home since he was born, not because of his unwillingness to explore new terrain, but because it is the finest town a hopeless music lover and taco enthusiast could ever imagine.